


Try Again

by Lidsworth



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood, Celegorm actually does right, Gen, Torture, celegorm wrestling werewolves, elves using telepathy, i wrote this a while ago and haven't read it for a minute so beware mistakes, mentions of Celebrimbor, mentions of gore, second part is kinda humorous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 14:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10832751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lidsworth/pseuds/Lidsworth
Summary: Celegorm attempts to make amends for his brother’s treatment of Finrod.





	Try Again

**Author's Note:**

> This was a drabble request I did a while ago, one out of a few i forgot to do, but I'll do them when the semester ends. Anyway, check me out on [tumblr](http://inkstranger.tumblr.com/post/159098062354/dabble-list-number-seventeen-dont-you-dare)! 
> 
> Mistakes are a given and the second part is more light hearted. Enjoy!

Unease rolls from Celegorm’s being like the hard waves crashing against the rocky shores of Valinor.

The pungent odor of blood and flesh hit the son of Feanor before the actual site does (and his enhanced sense of smell does not help). And for all his deeds committed in the Kinslayings, and the bloodbaths that came after, he still struggles to stand as the devastation in the dungeon is revealed to him.

Maybe it’s his cousin, bloody to the bone and swaying back and forth in tattered clothing, stance sloppy and tired as he raises his fist, preparing to launch a no doubt useless attack on Sauron’s werewolf, that shakes him to his core.

Or maybe it’s the tattered remains of Men and beast, skinned like rabbits and plastered on the floor.

He gulps, eyes unwilling to tear away from the morbid scene (a son of Feanor he may be, yet he is an elf before all else. And death such as this, he has _never_ gotten used to), only looking away when the man beside Finrod moans in pain. Celegorm blinks, not having considered him amongst the living until now at least.

That in mind, the elf creeps into the corridor, hunched low and pace slow, slow like the beast that crouches before his kin, teeth bared and ready to pounce.

Fingers brush against the blade at his side, but he recoils them immediately.

This is a beast, a _monster_ —this is no man or elf, and it will not fall like one. So Celegorm will slay him like an animal, for that is what he is.

Neither has noticed him yet, his presence masked to his advantage, mind using his stealth to formulate a plane that will see them all safely out.

And then Finrod growls, a guttural noise emitting from his throat. He balances on his heels, weight leaning backwards as he prepares to pounce, then glares at the wolf, blue eyes locking with the crazed orbs of the beast.

It smiles a jagged grin, taking the bold gesture as a challenge.

 _Oh no,_ Celegorm panics, immediately following his foolish cousin’s movements.

Tactical strategy and battle formation be damned, Celegorm will not have his cousin die—not because of him.

 _Finrod_ , he mentally hisses, snaps, mind reaching to the golden-haired elf, _Don’t you dare look him in the eyes. He will kill you. I am here and I will save you._

 _How?_ Responds the younger elf telepathically, refusing to calm until he receives a plausible answer. _  
  
_Insulted _,_ the hunter responds _, I was trained by the Lord of Beast, cousin. How do you think?_

That is all Finrod needs to hear.

The King falters, gaze dropping immediately to his feet as Celegorm’s warning resonates within his mind, followed by a calming sensation of peace. Beneath him the man shudders, unsure of what calm has passed his elf-friend in the middle of such destruction.

The wolf laughs, the gesture now a sign of surrender, of weakness.

And with a toothy grin, the beast launches forward, only to recoil moments later.

Celegorm drops his shields, and instantaneously, the servant of Sauron cowers before a Son of Feanor, whining and shriveling as the exiled prince stalks towards him with more ferocity than the beast thought possible of an elf.

The fight—if it could be called such—is short, and Celegorm knows he will be tasting wolf meat for weeks to follow. Though he minds very little, and rubs his bloody mouth with the back of his hands.

He waste no time in diving towards his fallen cousin and the human beside him, ripping the cloth from his cloak and treating them with his own salvia.

“We will need to return to Nargothrond to get your wounds treated,” he says rather hopelessly, for Finrod can hardly walk, and he doubts the man can do much more. He supposes he will have to carry them on his back (and it will be a small price to pay for what he has done to his cousin), though the journey will be long and tiresome.

“I can walk,” Finrod counters,  as if reading his mind, rising with a low groan and hand offered from his cousin.

“So…I’ll carry the man then?”                                                                                

 _I will,_ from behind him, down the steps, comes Huan, tail wagging and bright eyes shining at his master. The dog seems happier than he has in years, probably because his owner has done _something_ right.

“I’m turning a new leaf Huan, see,” he jokes, hoisting the man onto Huan’s furry back as the dog nibbles at him playfully.

 _You had better,_ comes the warning in his head, _I didn’t know how much longer I could stick around._

Any argument that ensued afterwards are cut short, for Finrod shyly interrupts their playful banter.

“I apologize, cousin. I could not retrieve your jewel for you,” the kign lowers his head, eyes averted in shame.

It tears Celegorm to shreds. Finrod is kind, kind like mother.

It was wrong if he and Curufin to manipulate him.  

“It’s alright.” He responds genuinely, trudging forward up the steps, “There will be…”  
  


He pauses midsentence, and a presence in his mind rendering him quiet and utterly still. A _burning, enticing_ sensation pulling at his being.

“I know that look,” Finrod is uneasy, almost afraid, “A Silmaril…it’s close.”

Amid the silence there is a soft tap of feet against the cold stone, and Celegorm nearly jolts as he is met face-to-face with the grotesque skin of a beast. Though slowly the skin falls off of the tall figure, revealing not a monster, but a woman—an _elf,_ a beautiful elf.

Though Celegorm marvels on her beauty for no longer than a moment, for in her pale hand gleams an even paler jewel.

The Silmaril.

—

Beren thought that Celegorm deserved it, for the son of Feanor had saved both he and Finrod.

Luthien thought that she deserved it, for she had retrieved it, and without it her marriage would never take place (to which Celegorm rolled his eyes and laughed, and told her that a woman of her age should have control of her own life).

Finrod remained silent, running his fingers through the soft strands of Huan’s hair like he did as a child, only voicing his opinion when the arguments had died down.

“By birth, it is Celegorm’s, and to take it would be stealing Luthien, and you know this _that_ …but she _did_ retrieve it when you could not cousin,” he added quickly, “so perhaps, it belongs to you both.”  

“But there is _one_ Silmaril, Finrod. Are we to cut it in half?” Comes Celegorm, poking the coals in the small fire very ferociously.

To which Finrod responds: “Are you not from a family of smiths?”

“Curvo?” He says automatically.   
  
“Heaven’s no,” Finrod adds quickly, almost frightfully, “Try again.”

“I don’t understand, what are they talking about? What is a Curvo?” Luthien pipes up, Silmaril clutched tightly In her hand.

Celegorm pays little attention to her words, only staring intently at Finrod.

“Who el…ahh..”

“Yes,” Finrod supplies, “You give him such little credit”. There is no lack of disappointment in his conviction, and Celegorm bite’s back the urge to defend himself. Finrod is right anyway.

“Celebrimbor,” he offers.

Finrod nods, “I do believe your nephew would be up to the challenge.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you thought of it, i live for your comments and kudos! Have a nice evening!


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